


all this time i've spent away

by katydidmischief (cassiejamie)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Kink Meme, Mentions of Violence, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiejamie/pseuds/katydidmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can see how Steve looks unconvinced, and when he stops, he's not surprised to be asked, "Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this time i've spent away

It's dark in his cell this time of night, or it should be—the guards turn down the lights and the heat after nine and they laugh on the nights when he begs for a little of both; there's a man in a neat, fitted suit kneeling down across from him, who looks angry and upset and frustrated all at once.

"Dr. Banner?" the man asks.

Bruce just wedges himself further into the space between the wall and the headboard. (His stitches hurt and his heart pounds against his sore ribs, and somewhere in his mind he knows he's guarding his wounds more than his whole person.)

The man shifts and moves a few inches closer, slowly, as if gauging his actions. "My name is Phil Coulson. I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention..."

"SHIELD," Bruce interrupts: he knows the agency, knows he'd been on their radar before the Army had caught up with him. He also knows that he can't fight them nor their methods and that their failure rate is the lowest amongst the government agencies.

He's theirs if they say he is and he swallows. "One lab to another, then?"

"Not quite, sir," Coulson tells him, respectful. "Until we are assured the Hulk is... contained, we can't allow you into the general population, but I can assure you that the methods you've been subjected to will no longer be allowed."

"You'll forgive me if I call you a liar. Sir."

"I've been called worse." Coulson holds out a blanket, one that's not threadbare and thin, and Bruce snatches it away with glee. "We have a medic who'd like to look you over—maybe fix those stitches—before we get you out of here."

Coulson's distaste for the Army's facility is more than evident and Bruce doesn't know if it's an act, but so far all he's been offered is carrots and he's so desperate for the kindness that he doesn't care what stick comes later.

He slides out of the space, accepting the help Coulson offers when Bruce's legs threaten to give out; he's weak and hungry, and when the medic offers up a nutrient drink, he downs it gratefully while still keeping a clenched hand in Coulson's suit.

The wounds are checked over in short order. The medic states, "These stitches will have to be taken care of back on base," and spreads a numbing cream over the bruised mess to help with the ache. Bruce is so grateful it's embarrassing, the pink blush on his cheeks, but there's relief in his skin.

He still doesn't trust nor believe that SHIELD will be any better than the Army, only they're putting him in a car instead of a locked cell in a truck and he feels better, full and warm, and when they arrive at SHIELD's base of operations, there's a guy waiting in plain clothes with an armful of sweatsuit in Bruce's size.

"If you'll come this way, Doctor Banner, we'll get you washed up."

It's an offer that drops him into tears.

He cleans up in an actual shower, the water rolling off him nearly black with grime. It swirls around the drain before disappearing and he nudges at one coil with a toe, watching it disperse and yeah, he's just too tired to care that he must look like a child playing with his bathwater like he is. (His new handler, an agent named Jack, just smirks and reads his newspaper.)

Washed and dressed, he's led through the corridors of this new place by a handful of men, their guns carefully concealed.

His new cell is clean and warm: it's a round space this time and they make it more than perfectly clear that should the Hulk become uncontainable, the cell itself will become his casket and it scares the fuck out of him, but, well, he can't exactly argue.

Still... for whatever they've planned, the agents of SHIELD are actually nice: the medics check on his incisions from the last round of study with gentle hands, his handlers make jokes with him (after the initial round of wariness), and as the days pass and his life takes on a new routine, Nick Fury brings magazines with him for their weekly meetings. Coulson even comes around with a book or two on occasion and introduces Bruce to Natasha.

(Her opinion, by the way, of this isolation of the scientist, is not something that can be repeated in good company. It reminds her of things she'd like to forget; it makes her evaluate morals she didn't think she still had.)

"Dr. Banner," he's greeted one afternoon, by a nervous Natasha. "Director Fury sent me. It seems there's something he'd like you to see."

He immediately tenses—that had been one of the Army's tricks, early on, before he'd learned, to get him out of his cell—but he follows her anyway, heeding the armed guards to their rear and their sides; whatever they've got on the agenda, at least he knows they'll care for him properly after and that's a solace: the last time one of the incisions had gotten infected, he'd nearly become septic before anyone had taken action to help him.

He doesn't notice when he stops moving, though he certainly doesn't miss the hand that settles onto his shoulder.

It's the first human contact he's had outside of experiments and testing in years.

"Bruce?"

"I'm fine." He shrugs her hand off and resumes walking, his gait slowed for Natasha to catch up and once more they're moving through the corridors toward some destination that Bruce assumes is his latest vivisection.

It's not.

It's not a hell, but a fucking heaven.

"They're letting me have a lab?"

Natasha doesn't answer, simply leans into a wall and nods off the guards and then gestures him toward the workbench. Data of all kinds sits there, papers in neat stacks, and Bruce swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, reading it all hungrily before hesitantly tapping at a nearby laptop.

It's hours before he's told it's time to return to his cell and he swears he's floating when they prod him into the corridor.

* * *

His nightmares are terrible and he learns where SHIELD's line is drawn: if the Hulk is anywhere near coming out, he's given sedatives. He's grateful for those, actually, because some nights the Hulk is a voice in the back of his mind and oh, how the seds shut the beast up... It's a fucking delight to get some rest and really, he never fights them.

He does, however, fight the blood draws more and more.

(They're not for research, Coulson tells him, but to make sure that he's healing well from the years of abuse at the Army's hands and that he's not getting nutritionally deficit with his odd eating habits.

He may or may not be called a liar. Again.)

They learn to restrain him without getting a rise from the Hulk, but it's a threat that hangs over everyone's heads; the doctors complain that it would, in fact, be safer for everyone if Banner was unconscious during exams and the like, but Fury turns down the request every time.

"He's still a human being, regardless of your issues," he tells whomever is sent by Medical to lobby him. "If and when we have a green incident, we'll revisit the idea, but for now—suck it up, kid."

Still, it's just a matter of time before the Hulk tries to out and they're taking his monthly bloods when the medic looks into Bruce's eyes and sees green.

She flees.

Bruce isn't allowed into the lab for days after, his cell locked down but for meal times and those are delivered by Coulson, the only agent in the area that isn't scared by the mere hint of the Hulk. He waits for them to come with the tranquilizers with each passing hour, surprised when all that's given to him are his nightly meds.

He breaks on day six, demanding, "It's been eight months. What are the plans for me?"

Coulson just sets the tray of food down on the little table near the door. "Our plans for you are the same as they've always been—to contain the Hulk."

"And you intend to do that with no research information?"

"We do have the Army's notes. However, SHIELD doesn't believe in violating the Geneva conventions."

"I'm not a prisoner of war."

"You were working for the Army with Erskine's research when you inadvertently created the Hulk and were thus pursued by the government for capture. Fits the criteria."

"We're not at war."

Only they technically were. Bruce's research... well, the Army had intended to put it to use in Afghanistan and Iraq should he bring it to fruition. His failure had been equally as intriguing to the other scientists, curiosity about how the gamma radiation had effected his organs, bone marrow, and other bodily functions as well as how the Hulk emerged and disappeared having gotten the best of men and women who'd once been close friends. They'd claimed him as if he were a laboratory animal.

Coulson waits for Bruce to nod him on and he adds, "We're not believers in torture. SHIELD is mocked by other agencies for our refusal to work over our captives and honestly, it's partly because we understand that kindness brings better results than a beating. You've already provided a great deal of information to some of our scientists looking to better understand the Hulk and what he can potentially do.

"However, that said, in the time you've been in our hands, we've only had one incident with the Hulk. One. The Army had multiple logs."

Bruce snorts. Yeah, the other guy had not been fond of the Army and had tried to protect Bruce however he could, but it only ever served to drag their attention to Banner.

"You've got him controlled. We've actually discussed allowing you some limited freedom outside of your lab—there's a gym not too far off—because of that."

"Liar?"

Coulson smirks. "Ask Natasha or Clint. They've been lobbying for you."

That startles Bruce some, but a feeling washes over him that reminds him almost of Betty, of warmth and friendship, and he can't help the grin that spreads on his lips. He can't help but nod at Coulson who pushes the tray forward with a fingertip and sits down with his smartphone in one hand.

A comfortable silence descends between the two.

* * *

They mark his one year anniversary with SHIELD with his cell door open and a cake that Clint decorated.

He can only go so far as to the surrounding catwalk, but sitting there, on the steps between the upper and lower walkways, Bruce feels invincible.

* * *

New York is... Bruce doesn't know how to explain the Chitauri or the events that had brought them into this universe.

All he knows is that for once, the Hulk had proven himself to be a powerful ally, if clumsy, and when he gets home to his cell, Bruce is flying high on adrenaline and pride. He doesn't even care that Tony is sitting on his bed, though he does note the angry expressions on both Stark's and Roger's faces. Still, he's earned his night of rest and relaxation and he intends to enjoy it; he makes his way toward his recliner, trying to figure out what either man could possibly want at such a late hour.

"Are you ignoring us?" Tony asks, affronted.

Bruce laughs and shakes his head. "I'm overtired, Tony. I want to sit down before I fall down," he says as he settles down in the chair, flipping the legs up and sighing happily. His eyes drift shut for a second before the reality of the situation hits him and he blinks to alertness, staring at the two men.

"Yeah, hi. Wanna tell us what the hell is going on? Because it looks like SHIELD has you locked up here and I am so ready to sic Pepper on them if that's the case," Tony half-rants.

"Look, I appreciate your concern..."

"Bruce," Steve cuts him off with a soft look, then continues, "are you being held here against your will?"

There's a sigh, then Bruce says, "I'm not free, no. But compared to the Army, this place is amazing. I have clothes and blankets and they let me have a lab. I know it's not perfect, but they've helped me."

"What do you mean 'compared to the Army'?"

It's Fury who replies, "Doctor Banner is seventeen hours overdue for his medication and he's already stated that he needs to sleep. If you're looking for details, I will be perfectly happy to give them to you."

Tony glances at Bruce, a question in his eyes.

"I'm fine. Honestly."

Neither man believes him for a second, but they go when Fury beckons and Bruce is more than grateful to have his cell vacated by the friendly interlopers; he moves to his bed and grins as the lights turn out, thinking over the events of the last few days and for the first time in a long time, praises the Hulk for his good work.

Eleven hours later, Bruce wakes up to Steve sitting on the grating outside his door. He looks devastated and a little bit broken and when Bruce nods at his favorite handler to let the other man in, the locks disengage and his cell door opens.

Steve hefts himself to his feet. "May I come in?"

"Please do."

"Fury explained some things to us," he starts, "Tony's still pretty pissed and he's been talking all night about getting the SI legal department on the case, but I... I wanted to talk to you first."

Bruce nods; he's sitting crossed-legged on his bed while he gestures Steve toward his beloved recliner, and once the man is seated, he asks, "What do you need to know?"

"Talk to me about before."

"Before what, Steve?"

"Before SHIELD."

"That's not a pleasant story."

Steve tells him, "I know," and leans back into the chair. "Please."

And for whatever reason, perhaps trying to make Steve understand why he so enjoys his life here, Bruce does: he tells Steve about the testing, the vivisections and the purposeful torture sessions that left the Hulk rampaging through their compound. He talks about his stained clothing and the threadbare blanket that had been all he had and how they'd compounded matters whenever he'd had to deal with healing wounds.

He talks and talks and lets things spill to Steve that he'd shared with only his SHIELD-issued therapist, because fuck, he doesn't want Steve to take him away. Not from here, where it's safe.

But he can see how Steve looks unconvinced, and when he stops, he's not surprised to be asked, "Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?"

A childish part of himself wants to answer with, "Do you?" but he stops himself, nodding instead. "I do. I'm also aware of Lima Syndrome, and several other syndromes where a detainee and their captors can develop emotional connections.

"I know it seems like I'm not aware of the reality of my situation, but, Steve, you have to understand that without SHIELD, I could have lost control of the Hulk and seriously harmed people—I did, several times over, before they stepped in—and this has been the best arrangement. Hell, they give me free reign of a lab and helped me learn to meditate. It's warm and we're both protected. So tell Tony that everything's okay."

"I don't like this."

"You don't have to. Just accept it."

* * *

Tony sics Pepper on Fury who is not above sending her to talk to the WSC.

Yeah, he did it. Fucktards who make stupid ass decisions like sending _nuclear weapons_ into Manhattan deserve the full brutality that is Pepper Potts on an angry tirade. (Even he knows not to stand in her way and he's met her precisely once before this.

He may also bend to her will because she's one of a handful of people who know Phil Coulson isn't as dead as rumors portray him to be and _she's_ not above holding that against him.)

But they won't bend and for now, Bruce remains in SHIELD's care. His anxiety seeps away at the news, and he enjoys his brief foray out into Central Park with a lot less tension than he's had in the previous days; Natasha and Clint take him back to the 'carrier after Loki's gone, though Tony had offered to take him for a drive.

"You should've gone with Tony," Clint says partway back. He's facing forward and his tone is level, but Bruce knows—just _knows_ —that Clint's gritting his teeth.

"Why?"

"Look, Doc, I know you think this is all for the best, but..."

"Stop. Please stop. I've spent the last few days defending my life to everyone, please don't make me defend it to you." He sighs. "I'm happy where I am. I don't need rescuing."

Clint turns at that, making a face. "You're happy to be locked up? To have your movements tracked all day, everyday? To be drugged every night?"

"I ask for the sedatives."

"And the other things I mentioned?"

Bruce rubs at one eye, then leans into the seat. He really doesn't want to argue with Clint nor Natasha; he doesn't want to have to fight them as well to remain where he's at his best, but he knows Clint well enough after the last year to know that this isn't going to end until Clint's satisfied that Bruce truly is happy. So Bruce tells him the same story Steve had endured listening to: he speaks about it in detail and goes on long after they've arrived at the docks, forcing Natasha to park on the street so he can finish without interruption.

Both agents are quiet for a moment and then Clint mutters, "You still should've gone with Tony, but I get it, Doc."

He pats Clint on the shoulder and says something that he will later look back on and groan in amused frustration: "If Tony can come up with security measures that are decent enough, I'll think about arguing for my freedom."

Yeah. Perhaps not the smartest thing to spout off in that moment.

(Because Tony? He takes that as a challenge and if there's one thing that Bruce should know above all else is that when challenged, Tony will forgo sleep and food to create.

Pepper doesn't even argue this time.)

Fury tells him he's being transported to a new facility, one better suited to containing the Hulk, about six weeks after New York. "Clint and Natasha will be close by with Jack Stanton," he says as he watches Bruce pack up his belongings in a set of matching luggage, "Your lab has been packed up by Tony Stark personally and has already been transported to your new one at the facility."

Clint tells him, "The security features are all top-notch, high-quality stuff—I couldn't even get through the rafters without an alarm going off."

Natasha just lingers in the doorway, waiting for him to finish packing with one of her rare mischievous looks.

(This is all by way of saying that Bruce kind of had a lot of clues dropped right in front of his nose that the "facility" isn't so much a SHIELD operated-base and more of a Tower. That Tony owns. And is going to be housing the entire group.

And oh, Bruce is officially an Avenger.

And they drop all of this on him when they shove him into his new home.)

Tony shows him all the new features including reinforced steel walls, JARVIS-monitored security cameras and audio sensors, pressure sensors in the floor for Hulk containment if needed, and internal glass walls on all rooms but for his bathroom with the option to make them opaque with a single request to JARVIS.

Steve grins.

Bruce freaks out and spends the night in the space between his new bed and the wall, begging for sedatives.

(They won't let him leave; they lock him in.

It's almost soothing.)

SHIELD sends his therapist over and she spends more than a few hours working with him, but Bruce is still completely upset by the reality that he's being handed back the reins to his own life. It's coming in small steps, but by being outside of SHIELD's facilities, he essentially has total control: if he wants to go outside, the likelihood that he'd be stopped outright is around nil, though Jack would surely come with him.

"I don't like this."

"It's uncomfortable," Jennie rewords.

"Very much so."

"Why?"

Bruce stops his pacing—sixteen steps too many after the forty-two steps that had been his cell—and thinks. Why is this uncomfortable? A thousand reasons come to mind, but the most important is, "I'm putting people at risk."

"Bruce, in the thirteen months you've been under our care, you've had two instances of the Hulk being unleashed or nearly so. You've got him under control and we trust you to continue doing whatever you have been to maintain the status quo. Now, why is this uncomfortable?"

"Honestly, I'm putting others in danger."

"No. You're not. Tell me the real reason."

His eyes flash green but Jennie doesn't even flinch.

"I'm not going to let this go, Bruce."

He slaps a hand against the glass in frustration; yeah, he knows she's not going to let up, knows it'd be unlike her to do so, but he doesn't want to talk about this right now. He really doesn't. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't.

He settles for saying, "I was happier there."

"Yes, you were. But for reasons that I'm finally allowed to tell you are unhealthy. Bruce, you identified with your handlers, you agreed with the WSC about your level of risk, and you permitted yourself to be locked up without a fight for over a year. You had barely any contact with the outside world and you called your cell your home."

_Here it comes_ , he thinks, only to find that Jennie doesn't repeat Steve's words from all too recently. Instead, she waits for him to speak and when he doesn't, she tells him, "This is going to take a while, Bruce, but I promise, we're going to work on this and get you back to society. We'll get you comfortable here, with your team."

"I don't like it."

She smirks. "You don't have to."

He groans. "I told that to Steve."

"And you try to pretend like you don't listen to me." Jennie pats him on the shoulder as she gathers her purse and her badge, then nods toward Jack and adds, "Go have dinner with your team. It will help the transition if you spend time with people outside your safe zone."

(She's telling him there's no going back, that he's not being returned to that cell that he'd loved, and he deflates.)

"Okay."

"Time, Bruce."

And he nods.

* * *

It takes too much time in Steve and Clint's opinion, for Bruce to start coming around.

He sticks to his lab and his room at first, locking himself in at night or having Jack do it. He stays within the view of any and all cameras every minute and he even has JARVIS hook the feed into Hill's station on the 'carrier.

Slowly, though, the needs ebb away.

Jennie calls it progress the first time he wanders off his floor; she uses even stronger words when he ventures out to Tony's lab where the music is too loud for microphones to work and pressure sensors aren't in use below his workbench.

By the time six months have passed, May long behind them and their first holiday as a team is nearly upon them, they've all gotten used to seeing him around the Tower. They're used to seeing him in the gym and the labs, and occasionally he's even without Jack.

"When's Phil getting released?" he asks one afternoon, sitting on the couch in the living room of his apartment with Clint both sipping mugs of hot chocolate.

"Tomorrow morning. Tasha and I are going to pick him up and bring him straight here." Clint grins as he speaks, looking like the proverbial cat with the cream. Bruce can't blame him—they've all been looking forward to Phil's return.

"He'll be home for Hanukkah then."

"Yup." Clint's grin grows wider. "If he hadn't gotten that infection, he'd probably be good to make us a mountain of Chremslach, too."

Oh, Clint, and his constant hunger.

"Anyway, you gonna meet us when we get in?"

"Of course."

Clint nods. "Good. He's been asking about you and I think he'll feel better when he sees that you're okay," he says.

And it clicks suddenly.

There's honestly nothing special about the moment and there's nothing like a light or a choir of angels to mark the realization, but it hits nonetheless and he gets to his feet without a word.

"Bruce?"

"JARVIS, opaque the walls and turn the monitoring parameters to normal."

It happens in the span of a second, and Bruce breathes in, sits down, and breathes out.

"You were saying?"

"Fuck, man. _Finally_. We were starting to worry that you'd never come around." Clint clinks their mugs together. "You do know that no one has watched any of the security footage since, like, August, right?"

Bruce rolls his eyes, but he admits, "I'm still not where I should be... It might take me years to get there."

"Yeah, but, dude—you opaqued the walls! That's kind of awesome."

It kind of is, Bruce thinks. "So, Phil?"

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [at the kink meme](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/12672.html?thread=28828288#t28828288) under this prompt:  
> After a close call with the Hulk almost escaping, SHIELD decides that the army's methods of containing the Hulk are too risky. They confiscate him.
> 
> Bruce, broken and bereft of all hope, assumes that he's just being transferred from one vivisection hell to another.
> 
> But that doesn't happen. Bruce is stuck into a roomy furnished cell and... basically left alone.
> 
> Nobody's torturing him, nobody's drugging him, nobody's pointing guns at him, SHIELD knows the Hulk gets agitated by military types so all his handlers wear civilian clothes, in general everybody's going out of their way to keep Bruce comfortable, he gets clothes and basic human dignity, and occasionally they even let him out and give him a lab to work in!
> 
> Yeah, he's still a prisoner. But after the last place he was in, Bruce can totally roll with the new regime.
> 
> Bonus: Events of The Avengers happen, Tony & Co. are horrified at Bruce's imprisonment. Bruce goes "No, no, compared to before, this is actually really, really nice!", which just makes them extra horrified.


End file.
